A Tale of Two Houses
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Two houses, two very different stories - a Mouth of Babes and an early Halloween tale.


It was Saturday, a glorious autumn Saturday, and Napoleon hadn't even opened his bedroom curtains yet.

It was warm, almost too warm for Halloween to be just a few days away. Napoleon could feel the heat in his bones, none of which were aching at the moment. That alone was a rare occurrence. After years of abusing his body in the worst ways possible, each morning seemed to bring its own special celebration of aches and pains. Yet, every once in a while, there was no pain and for that reason alone, this morning, Napoleon Solo celebrated.

He stretched out his arms in a glorious stretch and heard a grunt. Turning his head, he used his hand to flip down the sheet to reveal the tousled blond hair of his partner.

"Don't take this the wrong way, partner, but why are you in my bed?"

"I got kicked out of mine last night." Illya squirmed around and then pulled the sheet back over his head. "Why do they have to make morning come so early?"

Napoleon chuckled as he retrieved his arm. "Bad night?"

"Apparently Alex has convinced Irina that her dolls are possessed and would 'get her' the minute she went to sleep." Illya squirmed some more, obviously trying to get comfortable.

Napoleon sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He went to put on a slipper and frowned. Bending over, he picked it up and shook a Barbie head out of it. "Looks like some bizarre variation of _The Godfather_." He studied it for a moment and then placed it on the nightstand and reached for the other one. Several Lego blocks fell out. "Where does Alex get these ideas?"

"You're asking me?" Illya flopped over onto his back.

"You were a big brother. I'm sure you tormented your younger sisters and brothers to no end." Slippers now empty, Napoleon put them on and stood.

"I'll have you know I was a perfect child growing up. Ask my mother."

"I'd rather ask one of your sisters." Reaching for his robe, Napoleon sighed and reached into the pockets. He pulled blocks, a half eaten Tootsie Roll, a packet of crackers, a rattle, three socks(all different colors), a broken crayon, and a wad of Play-Doh out, dropping each on the bed in turn. "I'm not a grandfather. I'm a repository for garbage," he muttered.

"They are well known liars and story tellers." Illya gave up and kicked back the sheets. "I wondered what that lump was." He pulled a small teddy bear out from beneath him and held it out to Napoleon. "Something you want to tell me, old friend?"

"It's Irina's," Napoleon snatched it and dropped in onto the pile.

"Sure it is…" Illya grinned and climbed out of bed. "You want first crack?"

"Already made it," Napoleon muttered and then realized Illya meant the bathroom.

"Napoleon, why is there a pile of my clothes on the sofa?"

"Oh, I'll take care of them. You get your shower."

He woke with a mood blacker than his bedroom. He'd boarded up the bedroom windows after one of the little monsters next door had tried to break it with a ridiculous plastic pie plate. He knew they were trying to break in, that they were trying to get him. Well, he'd have none of it! None of it!

He sat up and groaned. He'd only managed four hours of sleep, what with all the blasting hoochie music his next door neighbors plagued him with. He'd called the police so many times they didn't even bother to respond anymore. Stupid police, what good were they?

He dressed hurriedly as his room was freezing. Winter seemed to come earlier every year, bringing its hellacious cold with it. He could feel it creeping in through all the cracks of his house.

Unlocking his bedroom door, he carefully walked down the stairs. Only last week, he'd found a handful of marbles strewn across one step. The little monsters had found a way to sneak in and make an attempt on his life.

His knuckle-headed nephew had laughed and explained that the marbles were actually dust bunnies, but he knew better. They were trying to kill him. He knew this.

Napoleon was brushing his teeth and mentally ticking everything he wasn't going to do off his list. He wasn't going to clean gutters, he wasn't going to rake leaves, and he most certainly was not going to trim bushes. He was going to play with his grandchildren, give his partner a bad time and possibly offer to cook dinner.

Illya's choked, "Irina, you shouldn't be in here!" made him turn. Irina was in the process of climbing out of her pajamas, obviously intent upon joining her grandfather in the shower.

"Why not, Poppy?"

"Because… Napoleon!"

"No, I'm curious as well, Illya. Why shouldn't she be in here?"

"Because… she shouldn't!"

"Alex takes showers with you." Her voice was muffled as she pulled off her top.

"Alex is a boy."

"So?" She climbed into the shower as Napoleon turned back to the mirror. "Poppy, you gots one of those things that baby Peter's got!"

Napoleon added, 'Clean toothpaste off mirror' to his to-do list.

Eating his oatmeal slowly, as to avoid choking on any glass that might be hidden within the sticky mess, he thought about his day ahead. Already he could hear children screaming and yowling outside. He glared at the dust motes that dared to dance in the few beams of sunlight that managed to trick their way in.

He'd tend to those first. If the sun could get in, so could those little monsters. He'd not have it.

The radio provided very little in the form of informative news. Mostly it was content to blare more of that profane hoochie music those monsters loved to flounce and wiggle to. It was shameless and provocative. If he had his way, they'd play nothing but classical music on all the radio stations. That would teach them to appreciate decent music.

Napoleon whistled a tune as he swept the bush trimmings off the front sidewalk. He had to admit that the front yard didn't look too bad. The back yard was a fright of scattered clumps of struggling grass, a variety of hardy weeds, whatever flowers escaped from Irina's last gathering, and a seemingly endless amount of toys.

When he commented about its sorry condition to his daughter-in-law, Lisle had just smiled and answered. "I guess it depends upon whether you prefer to raise grass or kids."

Across the street, a group of men were lounging on the side of the hole they'd been digging since early morning. Apparently a water main had broken and they'd jack-hammered the sidewalk and started the process of unearthing the pipe.

Napoleon listened to his grandchildren, laughing, as Leon tossed a collection of toys down from the roof. Illya had volunteered to clean gutters, but everyone knew, because of his bad hip, he couldn't be trusted on a ladder. Instead the task of raking leaves had fallen to him and as quickly as he raked them up into a pile, Alex and Irina jumped in and scattered them again. Then they would race back to see what treasures their father had rescued from the roof. In between, they laughed and giggled and shouted.

"Can't you keep them brats quiet?"

Napoleon looked from his sweeping to the speaker, a man in his late seventies.

"Hello, Aston, how are you today?"

"Terrible! Damn kids kept me awake all night."

"I think you are exaggerating. These two were in bed by seven last night."

"Not yours, although they are bad enough. I meant that seething pit of vipers on the other side of you!"

It took Napoleon a minute to figure out Aston was referring to the Delanys. The family fostered several children, along with four of their own. Napoleon had always thought the kids were very polite and reasonably well behaved. Certainly they were better behaved than he was at that age.

"I think they are just being kids, Aston."

"Not around me, they ain't. Around me, they are little monsters just waiting for me to stop watching them. But I won't! I can't."

"And why not?"

"'Cause they'll come in and git me!" He glared at the workmen. "Lazy bastards. Getting rich on my tax money!"

Irina ran up to her grandfather, a smile on her face. "Come on, Grampy, let's twirl!"

"Get away from me, heathen!" Aston shook his cane at the young girl. Irina's eyes got big and she clutched her grandfather's leg. Napoleon placed a protective and reassuring hand on her head.

"Don't talk to my grandchildren like that, Aston."

"Then tell them not to talk to me at all!" With a final threatening wave of his cane, Aston hobbled down the street, waving and shouting at nothing.

"Grampy?"

"Yes, my sweet?" He lifted her up and she immediately buried her face into his neck.

"What's a heathen?"

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, Poppy is."

"Poppy is what?" Illya asked as he approached them. "What was Old Man Sinclair going on about?"

"Our heathen grandchildren."

Irina knuckled the tears from one eye. "Poppy, is a heat'en okay?"

"I happen to think they are great." He held his arms out and she climbed into them. "You ready for another pile of leaves?"

"Yes, please." The two trotted away, Irina laughing at the top of her lungs and Napoleon smiled in their wake.

"We have heathen children?" Lisle didn't look pleased. She dropped the bag of clippings she'd gathered from the back yard and placed her hands on her hips. "Let me guess, Aston Sinclair?"

"In the grumpy flesh." Napoleon handed her an empty bag and waited for her to open it. "I wonder what kids ever did to him."

"I think they breathe and that's enough."

"He thinks the Delany mob is plotting his demise."

"I wonder if they need pointers or just financial support." Napoleon looked sharply at her. She suddenly looked and sounded so much like Angelique that it took his breath away. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Nope. It's still a few nights early for that." He waved to his grandson, who dutifully came running up to him.

"Yes, Grampy?"

"Remember those clothes we took out of Poppy's closet last night?"

"Uh, huh!"

"Go get them and I'll show you how to make a Halloween scarecrow."

"Can we hang 'em from a tree just like they used to do with horse thieves and bandits."

"Sure! Poppy's clothes will be perfect for that!"

"Hey!" Illya yelled from his position beside a scattered pile of leaves. "I resent that!"

"Illya, that jacket was out of fashion when you wore it and that was many sizes ago, my friend."

"I like that jacket! My mother bought me that jacket."

"Ye gods," Napoleon whispered to Lisle. "I didn't know poor taste in clothes was hereditary."

Illya's response was highly inappropriate for the ears of small children, but Alex was too busy on his quest, Irina was still doing her best to scatter the last few leaves, and the two babies in their playpen were too busy being babies to pay attention to their heathen grandfather.

He walked down the street, ignoring the people behind him. He could hear them shouting and laughing, no doubt aimed all at him. Why couldn't they mind their own business? Why couldn't they all just leave him alone?!

Napoleon settled back and sipped his beer. While the morning had been spent in the front yard, the late afternoon and evening was spent in the back amid the clumps of grass, toys, and abundant weeds. When regarded from a seated position through the filter of a cold one, he decided that the backyard was just about perfect.

Their dinner of barbecued steaks for the adults and hot dogs for the kids had been a great success. There had been enough potato chips, soda, macaroni salad, and Jell-O to satisfy even the always hungry Alex. Even Peter happily mashed his way through his baby food and giggled as it splattered everywhere.

"Hey, Grampy, I just went and looked at our scarecrow. It's really creepy hanging there!" Alex helped himself to another Popsicle. His tee shirt was stained with the remains of previous ones.

"Don't you think you've had enough, Alex? Your mother will faint when she sees your shirt."

"This is for Poppy. He says it's payment for using his favorite pair of pants for our scarecrow!"

Napoleon looked over to where Illya sat bouncing a pair of plump babies on his knees and shook his head. When had they become so domesticated?

He stomped back thought the twilight of the chilly night. He pulled the collar of his dark jacket tighter around his neck to bar any entrance of the cold. A dark watch cap was tugged down over his sparsely-haired head so that all that was visible was the top of his hooked nose. From head to toe, he was a dark figure moving against the dark.

The streetlights weren't working properly - another sign of abuse and waste within the government. Those that worked, he avoided. If any of the monsters saw him in the pools of light, they would attack and he was still not safely home. In the shadows, he was safe.

It was when he came abreast with that den of iniquities where that pompous blowhard Solo and his Commie friend lived that he noticed it.

His breath caught in his throat as he watched an effigy of himself swing lazily in the cool October wind.

That damned Solo, all smiles and pander to his face, and now this. Well, he'd take care of that.

He started to cross the street, but suddenly the ground was gone. For a moment, he seemed to float weightlessly, and then gravity took over and sent him dropping.

He landed with a sharp crack. Pain blossomed from his back outward and he realized he'd landed on an exposed pipe. His back was surely broken and his vision swam with the agony.

He looked up and saw dark shapes leaning over, looking down at him.

"Don't be stupid! Get your parents! Help me out of this damnable hole, you little monsters!"

A clump of something cold and wet hit him hard and he cried out. He tried to cover his face, but his arms refused to do his bidding. More glop rained down upon him, weighing him down. _Once I get out of here_, he thought. _I'll make them pay. I'll make them all pay!_ Then a rock hit his head with a sharp, stomach-lurching crunch and he thought no more, even as the hole filled in around and over him.

Napoleon walked down the stairs, being careful to avoid the toys, clothes, books, and knickknacks that decorated each step. He had no intention of fracturing a hip at this time of his life. One gimp in the family was enough.

He walked into the kitchen and grinned at the pancake-eating children.

"Grampy, you got to try dis!" Irina shouted, opening sticky arms to hug him. "They're great!"

"Grampy, guess what!" Alex yelled over his sister.

"What, Alex?" He carefully kissed Irina's dark curls.

"They fixed that big ole hole out front early this morning. Mommy said I could put my initials in the… con…con…"

"Concrete?"

"Uh, huh, will you help me?"

"Sure, no time like the present." He gestured to the back door and snatched a pencil from a cluttered counter. "Lisle, if you will excuse us for a moment, we have a matter of extreme urgency to address.."

Alex raced out, stopping by the gate until Napoleon was by his side. Together, and mindful of traffic, of which there was none, they walked over to the newly poured concrete slab.

"Huh, looks like someone beat us to it, Alex." Napoleon looked down at the initials already scratched into the setting cement.

"Who's R I P, Grampy? Ain't that what you put on gravestones? "

Napoleon offered his grandson a weak smile. "Don't pay any attention, my boy. It's someone's idea of a joke. Why don't you put your initials right there?" Napoleon looked over his shoulder at the dark and foreboding house as he pointed. "Quickly, before Mr. Sinclair sees us and starts yelling."

Carefully, Alex scrawled his initials before the previous set. "Hey, Grampy, what do you know! Mr. Sinclair has the same initials as I got. Wait till he sees this! Everyone will think he did it."

And without knowing of the truth buried just below their feet, the pair hurried off to greet Sunday and all that it had to offer.


End file.
